Exempt from change
by Waterfowl
Summary: A glimse into Lee Adama's most initial reaction to the news of Dee's demise. Set pre- and post- the morgue scene in 'Sometimes A Great Notion', season 4. Featuring Helo.


**A/N: Guess, I'm still to work the bulk of the 'Sometimes A Great Notion' Lee Adama-angst out of my system. ****This minute drabble is intended to tackle Lee's most initial shock at the news of Dee's demise. Helo gets to feature.**

**Set around the notorious morgue scene in 'SAGN', season 4.**

**Disclaimer: None of the characters, plot-points, inherent to the show, belong to me.**

**Exempt from change***** **

Helo was still saying something, around the sobs. Some gibberish about Gaeta finding her. The gun. He didn't very well bother to listen, for it wasn't true, anyway. Sure enough. They had dinner together and danced. And laughed. A lot. And _kissed_, for Gods sake! Not yet half an hour ago. He'd be damned if she wasn't happy, stepping through that hatch-door. _That _was true. What Helo was trying to sell him on there, was some frakking joke. A lame one, at that. Why bother make it all the way to Colonial One to pull a half-witted prank?

He couldn't feel it up to the point of attempting an inhale of breath. The dagger. A sharp, cold blade ripping deep through him. His hand jerked convulsively to his chest, to cover the wound, as a stupefied gasp escaped. Wondering, dumbfounded, why there was no blood, got him distracted for a long moment, till he heard Helo shift from foot to foot with a clear intention of approaching closer. That was when he panicked. Helo drawing any nearer would make it real. And he just wouldn't have any of that nonsense.

So he avoided Helo's reach with a fluid dancing move that would've gained him a Hades of a credit in the ring. Karl Agathon kept babbling, but he had to tune a loftier part of it out, concentrating on breathing cautiously around that stupid dagger. A Raptor waiting to take them back to Galactica; escorting him to the morgue... The latter got him instantly confused. Why should he go to the morgue? He had no business there. Neither had Dee, to the best of his knowledge. He'd walked her to the quarters earlier that night. Why was he supposed to look for her elsewhere? Really, Helo, how smart it was to presume someone would want to go to the morgue, of all places, on a frakking tour? He wanted to scoff at his own jibe, but it got caught on the tip of the blade, protruding through his heart, charging a jolt of pain hot enough to make his vision blur.

Helo all but manhandled him from the hangar deck, through oddly crowded hallways to Doc. Cottle's realm, still he felt like bolting all the way. Going in there, seeing for himself would make it real. All of it, but the solid, piercing presence, still plugging the leaking hole in his chest. He'd heard once, that were someone stabbed right through the heart, they'd be able to survive for a while up till the weapon was removed. Making it real, he'd have to bleed to death before long.

He was unaware to have been running all the length of the route from the morgue to the 'officers' country', upon fleeing his father's obnoxious intrusion. The Admiral was painfully hell-bent on making it too real too soon. There was no way he could stay. Either it'd been a while, or he actually overestimated the speed and distance ratio, but his whole body was screaming from exhaustion by the time he skidded to a stop at the hatch-door of her quarters. Forced to lean against the bulkhead, the surface a welcome cool to the touch of his sweat-covered forehead, he expected the breathing to even out on its own. And therein lay the next problem. The most basic of acts – an intake of air. He'd performed it hundreds of billions of times ever since the day he was born and yet his lungs seemed to have forgotten the simple algorithm, all of a sudden. He just stood there, braced against the door to have shut him out of her despair for good, and couldn't remember how to breathe.

Helo got his way, eventually, catching him into an embrace, as he was slumping to the floor, leisurely taking stock of energy oozing quietly away from his members. Gods, he ought to have indeed resumed full-scale exercise, if a single jog could end him up so drained! He didn't protest that time, as Agathon's arms clutched firmly around his torso. Didn't bother to return the hug either. Just mused distantly how he was going to explain those stains on Helo's tunic later. Karl Agathon had apparently failed to notice his friend was bleeding for real. Right through his heart.

* * *

*All but Death, can be Adjusted -

Dynasties repaired -

Systems - settled in their Sockets -

Citadels - dissolved -

Wastes of Lives - resown with Colors

By Succeeding Springs -

Death - unto itself - Exception -

Is exempt from Change

(by Emily Dickinson)


End file.
